


Know How it Feels to Dance Like You

by WeekendWriter



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Chuck Lives, Hong Kong Shatterdome, M/M, Post-Operation Pitfall (Pacific Rim), Pre-Slash, The Drift (Pacific Rim), body swapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeekendWriter/pseuds/WeekendWriter
Summary: The drift is quiet. It’s a subtle whirl of blue hues, a flurry of thought and emotion that rolls as easily as the ocean tide. But this? This is pure chaos.Chuck gasps for breath and clutches his knees. He turns from the doctor and gets a face-full of himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this got stuck in my head the other week, and I'm glad to finally put it to paper so to speak. Hope you all enjoy, as always kudos/comments are always appreciated, and I'm always around on [Tumblr](https://weekend-writer.tumblr.com/).

The drift is quiet. It’s a subtle whirl of blue hues, a flurry of thought and emotion that rolls as easily as the ocean tide. Even a master of the drift has a difficult time letting the drift truly flow freely. It takes a mind wherever it wants, careless and incessant like riptide, and fighting it is just as difficult. It’s different each time, and yet always the same experience.

But this? This is pure chaos. This is a hurricane of darkness pulling his very skin this way and that as his mind turns summersaults in his skull. At least, that’s what Chuck is imagining is happening. His brain feels like mush, and it probably is, from the turbulence tossing his consciousness like a petulant toddler throwing a tantrum. The lack of memories through the darkness is frightening to him. Fear is the overriding emotion seeping through the drift, and he realizes with a start that it’s not all his own.

That start jerks his brain, jerks his very subconscious in a way that sends him screaming back to himself.

Chuck gasps for breath and clutches his knees. The helmet has already been ripped from his head and now lies helplessly on the floor. He braces himself for the expected quips of carelessness and abuse of equipment from the doctor nearby but Newt is uncharacteristically silent – something that should be setting off alarm bells in his already-ringing mind, but as his rolling stomach settles, Chuck thinks there’s nothing that could possibly startle him after that clusterfuck of a failed drift. 

Until he looks down at the white-knuckled grip on his knees. The skin there is far too golden for his liking, and his prize scar from his first bar fight at sixteen is mysteriously missing from his left knuckle. Newt’s still staring at him like an incompetent fuck, so Chuck finally rumbles, “What in the fuck was that, mate?”

Except the words are lacking the familiar edge; rather, they’re low and even and feel far too foreign on his tongue. It’s not his. Whatever the drift just did, it’s not his voice tumbling from his lips. He turns from the doctor– 

–and gets a face-full of himself. 

Chuck starts again – so violently this time that he hits the floor. Who in the fuck is that staring back at him? The other him looks equally as freaked out. A stream of colorful curses come out in a haphazard, uneven accent, and that’s when it clicks. It’s not another him. It’s not even him.

It’s Raleigh.

As him.

And he’s Raleigh.

“Newt–” Chuck gives pause again at the American accent rolling from his tongue. “You’ve got exactly five seconds to tell us what the _fuck_ is going on.”

“I – holy shit – never seen anything like –”

“You’re running out of time, mate.” The words don’t sound nearly as threatening without the Australian edge. The honey-smooth slowness of Becket’s low voice drowns the words in a nicety that Chuck’s never could afford. The stark contrast between that and his inherited dialect is so sharp that he almost misses the scientist’s next sentence.

“Something happened within that drift between you two,” Newt begins. “It’s like… instead of swapping memories, your neural connection swapped… _you_. Your essence, or soul, I guess, if you believe in that. Whatever part of the brain’s conscious that goes into the drift, it somehow got crossed in the middle and returned to the wrong head.”

Chuck exchanges a glance with – himself? Raleigh? – and quickly returns his gaze to Newt. Way too fucking weird to be seeing himself outside his own body. There was no way Becket felt any differently, if the expression he saw there was any indication.

“Okay, so how do we fix it?” Raleigh, ever the go-getter, rolls his – Chuck’s? – shoulders to square himself for whatever answer the scientist provided.  
Newt gulp’s gulp was more than likely a trained response to hearing the accent rather than the actual question himself. The guy, after taking a second to collect himself, leans backward in his chair and says, “Guys, you know how shittily-documented the drift process was. It’s not like Lightcap had a lot of time to work with here. My professional opinion?” He ignores Chuck’s pointed cough and plows through with, “Drift again. Give me some time to set things up and we’ll see if re-doing the entire process will be enough to fix you.”

Chuck wants to argue. Everything about this feels alien to him – he’s not surprised, he’s in a completely different body, for fuck’s sake. The sooner he can get back into his own skin, the better, in his opinion. “Fine. And for fuck’s sake, until we fix this, nobody knows about it, alright?”

The complete and utter look of contempt Raleigh plasters all over his own features, a look he’s never witnessed personally, tells him that Raleigh is on the exact same page. And damn, if that look isn’t powerful.


	2. Chapter 2

That look sticks with him like an extra thick helping of fairy bread, so he follows Becket’s trail out of the lab and reaches for his arm – his own arm, this is getting way too freaky – in an attempt to stop the guy. “Look, I’m about as thrilled about this as you are, but you’re going to have to fix my face–”

Raleigh whirls on him and breaks the grip with ease, and Chuck is reminded suddenly of how easily the guy took him down last time. That look of contempt is back, though Chuck feels as though he should be the one feeling that way. The contempt continues as Raleigh glances from his broad shoulders to the studded boots on his own feet and says, “I’m sure it’ll be a fucking tragedy for you to spend some time as the old has-been around here, and I know you’re not stupid enough to think this is my fault. So why don’t we just take separate halves of the ‘Dome and wait this shit out by ourselves? Much as I’d love to hand your ass to you again, I’d hate to deal with that black eye tomorrow myself. But touch me again, and I’ll make an exception.”

The bloke’s steeled tone shocks Chuck enough to let go. He watches Becket swagger off, the wider stance looking off on a different his own legs and Chuck can’t help but look down. The words cut like a Bowie and bring Chuck back to earlier in the day. 

_“I still don’t see why I have to share a headspace with a goddamn has-been!”_

_Newt’s eyes roll hard enough that Chuck convinces himself that they’ll fall out of the back of his head. “Marshall’s orders.” When that’s unsuccessful, Newt brings out the importance of understanding the drift, of getting a hold on how they can still benefit from the hard work placed into it so far even after Pitfall, and that begrudgingly changes Chuck’s attitude._

_Doesn’t mean he’s thrilled with the idea of having to drift with Raleigh._

_Newt leaves out the part about the drift being a source of healing, especially for two as damaged as them, as he’s smart enough to know the pair will be steadfast in their refusal to need healing in the first place. But Pitfall was hard on all and moving forward is necessary, as is research, so here they all are. There is no way Raleigh didn’t hear Chuck raving for the second time about Raleigh’s inabilities due to his inactive period, but Newt pointedly avoids this topic as he sets up the two with the neural equipment he still has._

_God willing, this’ll all turn out well in a session, and he can be done with this shit by lunchtime._

He should have known his big mouth would land him in trouble again. Much as Chuck didn’t want to acknowledge it, he understands why the seppo was offended enough to make a standoffish remark such as that. But that old angry fire rears its ugly head again, muttering about how Becket has no right to talk to him like he’s a child. Chuck has spent less time in the service, is younger than the bloke by several years, and yet outranks him in almost all areas. He thought maybe they’d get past their issues after Gipsy’s victory in the harbor, but both of them surviving Operation Pitfall has only ignited the spark between them.

Chuck refuses to back down. If Raleigh thinks Chuck is going to suffer in Raleigh’s body, he’s got another thing coming. Playing a seppo from a small town with no real issues will be a cakewalk in any scenario. He gathers himself and heads down the halls. 

Maybe the mess will be serving fresh veggies today.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not until he’s passing the LOCCENT hallways that Chuck remembers his father. Fuck, there’s no way in hell that he’s going to get out of his father knowing about this. Every other PPDC personnel? Hopefully, hell yes. But the Marshall? The Marshall should at least be privy to one of his scientists engaging in experiments that result in something as alien as _body swapping_ , or whatever. So he averts his path to the main offices. 

Herc is, as always, slouching behind his desk in a stance far too tired for an acting Marshall. Not to say that the man hadn’t done a phenomenal job so far, because he had. Chuck never underestimates his father’s ability to do his job; he’s learned better than to do so. No, he just can’t believe that after all his father has given, he’s still giving more. If Newt hadn’t caught him on his way out, Chuck would already be on the first flight out after his short stint in medical.

The Marshall looks up and flashes a short and slightly forced smile. “Raleigh. What can I do for you?”

It takes a second for Chuck to catch up – he really _is_ the seppo. This is happening. He squares his shoulders and says, “Uh…” 

“Really, son. Always got time for you, but I’m a bit busy.”

At the word ‘son’, Chuck pulls a rather affronted face. Exactly how cozy had his father gotten with the bloody seppo? They hadn’t exactly talked about their ‘this is the last time I’ll see my son’ moment in the hallway, but hearing the endearment so easily directed at someone else twists something in Chuck’s gut.

Upon seeing the face he was making, Herc actually pauses and drops his paperwork. “…Raleigh?”

Chuck swallows with difficulty and decides to take the shot, like always. “Dad. It’s me.”

In rapid succession, disbelief, humor, confusion, and ultimately awe flash over Herc’s defined features. Chuck sighs, knowing full well he should expect each one. He’s trying to formulate how to further explain the situation when the Marshall leans further back in his chair, runs his hands through his hair, and simply asks, “Newt?”

“Newt.” Chuck accepts the glass Herc digs out of his office desk and the generous helping of something amber that Herc pours into it. After a large gulp, Chuck adds, “Initiated a drift with me and Raleigh. This was the result.”

“Bloody hell.” Herc drains his own glass. “Stacker and I always talked about the possibilities, but I never thought I’d see the day, kid. Guess you could’ve picked a more unfortunate-looking soul to swap with.”

“Doubt it, unless Gottlieb is finally up for drifting again.”

Herc makes a face. “Not funny.”

“Really? Because this whole situation is bloody hilarious,” Chuck replies sarcastically. 

“Almost like karmic retribution. I’m laughing. Watching you acting like him is going to be an absolute riot.” Even at Chuck’s prompting, Herc refuses to elaborate on what he means and instead contents himself with another glass of scotch. “I’m guessing you’re keeping this under wraps until Newt fixes the whole fuck-up?”

Chuck accepts his refilled glass with a slight raise of it. “Fucking a ‘right. Can you imagine the media field day if this got out?”

The chuckle Herc gives is assumed to be at that until it finally subsides long enough for the Marshall to cough out, “Sorry. ‘s just funny hearing you talk through him. Accent and all.”

This week’s going to be far longer than he originally thought. Chuck drains his second glass in one go and hands it expectantly out once more.


	4. Chapter 4

Chuck ambles back to his room, buzzed on whatever Herc had been handing him. What had the old man meant when he said that it’d be interesting seeing him act like Raleigh? It almost reminded him of Raleigh’s earlier statement. Did neither of them think him capable of learning about the seppo or capable of acting like anybody other than himself?

He’d show them. All he had to do was act like an old has-been way too obsessed with his new drift pilot after years of scrabbling over some fresh yet already decrepit wall. Anybody could do that, especially Chuck fucking Hansen. 

Tendo practically runs into him around the corner, merely feet from his own door. So close. “You ready for your close up, brother?”

Chuck’s grateful that the surprise makes him utter simply, “What?” in a perfect imitation of Becket’s voice. 

“Tomorrow. The interview.” Tendo glances at him pointedly. “You’ve got that interview with the World News Organization about life as a jaeger pilot.”

Shit, how could he have forgotten? Ever since Pitfall, the requests for interviews into the PPDC have hit an all-time high. Everybody always wants to get a piece of the hero. Chuck should have expected that Raleigh would have one or more set up, given that the has-been was somehow the one that detonated the bomb that took out the Breach. A snide voice in the back of his head reminds him that he probably should give the bloke more credit, but the initial sting of finding out about Gipsy’s failure that cold February day still burns all these years later. Pilots during the glory days were supposed to set the example, were supposed to do everything they possible could in the name of the program and of their partner.

Becket had been an impulsive sod that got his brother killed and his jaeger destroyed. 

Coming back took guts, guts which the guy clearly had in order to enroll in the PPDC in the first place. The missing five years left much to be desired, though. 

Missing, being the key point there. Chuck pauses on his doorstep. He really has no idea who the hell the blonde is, or how to answer any of the personal questions they’re gonna ask him in the interview. Sure, he memorized plenty of the dumb fast facts when the Beckets were golden lions gracing the cover of every magazine like where they were from and what were their favorite candies (hard candy for Raleigh) but nothing that would help him here. So he pivots and heads down the hall to Becket’s quarters. Once there, though, he remembers the flare of disdain in his eyes. The old stubbornness resurfaces. Sue him, he’s a strong-willed bastard. The thought of begging Becket for details to help him with the interview makes his stomach contents curdle like sour milk. 

And shit, if Becket hadn’t come to him asking for help about his upcoming interview, he’s sure as hell not going to be the one that breaks and asks first. 

If they go down, at least they’ll flounder together. 

So Chuck spends the remainder of his afternoon glancing through the archives in LOCCENT for information about Becket. At the very least, it’ll look like the equivalent of the seppo Googling himself, and wouldn’t that just be a riot?

He can feel himself tiring; it must be getting late. So Chuck stands and heads back to his bunk. There’s a lot of staring and more than a bit of snickering as he nears and it takes way too long for him to realize–

It’s not his bunk. It looks like Raleigh is on his way to Chuck’s bunk, probably on his way to kick ass again after their last public encounter. He hates to admit it, but the bloke really did a number on him in the hallway, and there’s more than a few people in the ‘Dome that would pay to see him get his ass handed to him again. He stops awkwardly outside his own door, feigns knocking, and then heads down the hallway to Raleigh’s bunk. 

The first bit of luck he catches all day is that Raleigh is also standing outside the bunk looking equally confused. Chuck crowds into his space and mutters, “I need your door code.”

“Like fuck you do.” Raleigh’s frowning, and that downward expression is more like what Chuck is used to seeing on his own face. “I’m not letting you into my bunk.”

Chuck snorts; like this is going to be a picnic for him either. “Sure thing. Go ahead and look like you’re itching to get into Raleigh’s bunk.”

The bloke finally pauses, like he too hadn’t been thinking along those lines. The implications that people could draw there, between either of them entering for the night and not returning–

That’s something neither of them want. 

So Raleigh sighs and mutters his door code. And, because nobody said he had to be an easy bastard, Chuck enters the door code, shoots Raleigh a grin, and says, “Better find Dad if you want to get into your bunk,” before he slams Raleigh’s door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chuck can’t sleep. He’s spent the last hour tossing and turning and downright fuming at his current situation. He’s definitely not the nicest fucker out there, but he helped save the goddamn world, didn’t he? So why the hell was he being punished like this? Becket’s sheets are worn, like the clothes he took out to sleep in. Chuck’s pretty sure they’re probably from his first time in the service somehow, and he doesn’t see the nostalgic need behind them. His own sheets in his own damn bunk are new and soft with a thread count to make most people jealous. In comparison, Becket’s things are a joke.

He heaves himself over the edge of the bed and stands on the cold floor. If he can’t sleep, might as well help himself for the interview. He boots up the bloke’s tablet but pads over to the bookshelf in the middle of the room.

There are photos there, images of a much younger Raleigh arm and arm with a younger and very much alive Yancy. They look happy, look so much full of life that for a moment, Chuck chokes on air. He’s never seen the bloke look like that, never witnessed so much happiness exuding from a person as he sees coming from Raleigh as he grips his first drift partner. Chuck’s floored; as much as he resents Herc sometimes, he can’t imagine losing the man, can’t imagine the absolute hole that would be left in his brain without his father to fill it. 

Doesn’t excuse the wanker from the past five years, though.

But the images are enough to drive Chuck back to bed, back under the heavy knitted blankets that provide a warmth he’s surprisingly okay with. It’s only then that Chuck realizes that by sending Raleigh to his bunk, he’s effectively confined the guy to a night with conversations with Herc. He can’t imagine the conversations they’re having, but his eyelids are finally heavy.

He drifts to sleep in the knitted warmth.

 

 

The next morning, Chuck enters the mess amidst smiles and waves in his direction. He’s not a morning person; he’s sure the glares he’s sending peoples way are not standard for the bubbly Becket. He barely has enough time to pick out some eggs and a sad looking scrap of sausage before Elvis is invading his personal space.

“Come on, brother,” Tendo says as he shakes Chuck’s shoulders. “Almost time for your close up.”

“But–” Chuck waves his fork after the remains of his breakfast, but Tendo has a stranglehold on his bicep. 

“They’re setting up un LOCCENT,” Tendo continues as they scramble down the hallway. “Figured it was the easiest, roomiest place to do this away from prying eyes.”

Chuck rubs his eyes. It’s way too early for an interview he didn’t sign up for. He swears he can see the mental notes he took on Becket’s past fluttering from his mind in the wind. “Right, yeah.”

True to Tendo’s word, there’s a camera crew centered around two chairs in the middle of LOCCENT. There’ll be a spectacular view of the equipment present, which Chuck secretly hopes will pull eyes away from him. The make-up artist that pulls him into a chair squashes this worry, until the poor girl raises her brows at the darkness under his eyes. 

He shrugs and grins, and she thankfully melts at Becket’s warm, puppy-dog smile.

Something Chuck could get used to.

“And we’re counting down.”

The final brush flutters over his face before the makeup artist all but bodily tosses him toward the camera set. Strong woman. Chuck straightens his sweater – it’s one of the deep blue ones Becket always favors, and even he has to admit that the thing’s extremely comfortable. A bit worn, but a bit like wearing a cloud. 

“Mr. Becket.” The reporter, a leggy blonde, throws him a camera-winning smile that makes Chuck’s skin crawl. 

He forces himself to shake her offered hand and tries to tone down the apprehension he knows must be showing all over his face. She looks like she’s gonna eat him alive, and that’s not a cheery thought. “Pleasure.”

She stares into the camera face as the camera guy counts down from five. Chuck can’t remember the last time he’d been in an interview like this – hell, the last interview he could remember at all was the one outside Striker in Sydney, when he watched Mutavore punch through the Wall like an angry bar brawler. That interview hadn’t exactly gone well. Contrary to popular belief, he was very aware of the public opinions of Striker’s team and of him specifically. He saw the cocky attitude everyone else criticized, and he knew that there was more to himself than that. If others didn’t see that, it wasn’t his problem.

Except that this was Becket. He’d seen the blonde’s interviews before, with Yancy by his side. The two were a PR wet dream come true, as apple pie as the PPDC had ever wanted. The good looks only furthered their popularity among watchers. 

Hopefully, that was enough to get him by now. 

“…and I’m here with Raleigh Becket, hero of the Breach!” The reporter shoots him a pointed glance, and Chuck knows he must have been spacing through the introduction. “So, Mr. Becket, tell me: how does it feel to such a great hero?”

Humbleness and handsomeness; Chuck repeats the mantra in his head as he flashes a smile her way and scratches at the back of Becket’s blonde mop. “Ah, I don’t know about all that. A pilot’s only as good as his crew and his partner.”

Some of the camera people ‘awww’, and the reporter faux clutches at her heart. “A very true point there. We’ve been getting reports about you and your drift partner. Care to dish on your relationship and how you’ve been _celebrating_ the end of the apocalypse?”

Something uncomfortable burns in Chuck’s gut at the emphasis she places on the word. To his knowledge, Becket and Mori aren’t anything more than two close souls connected through the drift, but he’s not comfortable saying one way or the other. He may be at ends with Becket but that doesn’t mean he needs to make the bloke’s life more difficult with media frenzy. “Mako’s…” He pauses and hopes he can imitate the same wistful look Becket adopts whenever the sod talks about his drift partner. “Mako’s the closest friend I’ve ever had. I can’t ever express how grateful I am for her.”

“That’s right, especially considering the loss of your first partner, correct?”

“What?” Chuck’s head snaps to meet her gaze. The sudden exclamation leaves him reeling; did she really just ask him about that?

The reporter smiles, and Chuck knows now why he got the sense earlier that she was going to be the end of him. “Your brother, your former drift partner? How does it feel knowing that you’ve finally redeemed yourself for being unable to save him by helping Ms. Mori through the final operation?”

Chuck stares at her. He’s been through some shitty interviews before, and he’d even prepared to hear mentions of Becket’s brother and that fateful night in the frigid Alaskan waters, but this? This is downright unacceptable. The bitch is prodding intentionally, trying to get some kind of rise out of him. What she’s said isn’t exactly wrong; in fact, it’s been what Chuck himself has been preaching for years. It was Becket’s call that sent them so far off the coastline, and his call that cost his brother his life when they’d both underestimated Knifehead. 

But reminding him about it on national TV as though saving the entire world wasn’t an important enough talking point? Even Chuck wasn’t here for that. Not for Becket, not for anyone.

Wordlessly, Chuck disconnects his mic and stands. The reporter and the crew in front of them are glancing at him as though he’d grown one of Slattern’s tails out of his own back end, but Chuck couldn’t care less. He pivots and heads out of LOCCENT.


	6. Chapter 6

“What, in the everloving _fuck_ , was that?”

Tendo catches up to him in record time, but Chuck continues down the hallway at a brisk pace. “Dunno what you’re talking about, mate.”

“Mate?” Tendo grabs a fistful of his sweater that actually stops Chuck. “What the hell’s going on with you, brother? I mean that interview wasn’t you.”

Chuck runs a hand over his face. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s about time I start acting like the real me.” He glares pointedly at Tendo’s hand, and the tech reluctantly releases his grip. 

The nerve of that reporter. Chuck’s furious, more so than he thought he’d be, but he can’t help the burning rage in his gut. It was never enough for them. The blood, sweat, and tears they poured into the academy was only the beginning. He still remembered the stress of his first drift, the fight it took to be the first in Striker when so many were older and ‘more qualified’. Pilots gave too much of themselves to the program. It was that way in the beginning, and it was still true now. But going after Raleigh, after he’d detonated his own fucking jaeger in a different dimension for people he didn’t even know?

Fuck that. Fuck them all. 

He’s at the kwoon before he even remembers deciding to go there. Of course, Raleigh himself is already there, running paces through an exercise. The guy is moving more slowly, more deliberately than he usually does, which tells Chuck he’s simply trying to figure out movement in his own new body. 

Something Chuck hadn’t even considered doing. 

Raleigh turns when he enters the room. It’s still bizarre to meet his own blue-green gaze from across the room, to see that brow furrowed in disappointment at himself from something other than a mirror for once. 

“Before you say a fucking thing, let me talk.” Raleigh raises his brow further, which is impressive even by Chuck’s own standards, but waves a hand for him to continue. Chuck sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mate, you’re a fucking has-been. You’re now, apart from my father, one of the oldest pilots we have left, and _still_ , you’re one of the best fucking pilots this program has ever seen. I’ll always have my own reservations about you leaving the program after that fuck-up in February, but you came back, yeah? You crawled out of whatever shithole you deemed acceptable for yourself and you threw yourself back into the cockpit without a single reservation. I can’t say any of the rest of us would have done the same. It took guts, mate, and there’ll never be another pilot like you. Even if the program continues after this. And fuck, do I hope it doesn’t.”

Raleigh’s silent for a solid minute before the guy finally says, “My god, is that what emotional constipation looks like on me? Thank fuck Yancy always taught me to talk about my feelings.”

Chuck laughs; it’s a loud sound that bounces off the walls of the kwoon and echoes in Raleigh himself. 

When he collects himself, Raleigh finally adds, “I… Thank you? I’m guessing based on my limited knowledge that that’s as close to as an apology I’ll ever get from you. Though I can’t imagine why in the fuck I got it in the first place. Did I miss the opening of the second Breach?”

The interview still hangs in Chuck’s mind like a dark cloud. “Nah, mate, just… Let’s call it a moment of clarity and leave it at that. We’re not about to hug it out or some shit.”

“You sure, Chuckles? Apparently, miracles are happening.”

“Wanker.” But Chuck grins his way and Raleigh returns his easy smile. It’s a sight he can get used to seeing, if only he got the chance to see it on the guy’s face instead of his own. Maybe there’s hope of that after all.

Maybe the swap hasn’t been a complete disaster after all.


End file.
